


Arms

by Emocean



Series: Bitter Peaches [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 20:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13466349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emocean/pseuds/Emocean
Summary: But when he fell asleep and dreamed of her eyes, her hair, her mouth, her nose, her dresses—just her… and then her mouth again – that’s when he realized, doubtlessly:“I’m in love.”But it was too late, wasn’t it?





	Arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ochatoame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ochatoame/gifts).



> this is an old work from 2016!! It was based off of my characterization of Hikaku Uchiha and my friend's of Toka Senju. I asked her for permission to post this once I'd found it, and I'm glad I did!! I don't remember if I ever shared it with her, so I'll do it now!
> 
> thanks for coming!! Enjoy!

_"I never wanna leave you, but I can't make you bleed if I'm alone. You put your arms around me and I believe that it's easier for you to let me go. You put your arms around me and I'm home." - Arms; Christina Perri_

.

“Wait!”

Her boot replaced itself firmly on the icy pavement. Frost crunched under her soles. Her emerald gaze shifted through the crowds, searching for him, ticket held firmly in her gloves.

There he was. It took another few seconds to reach her, and he doubled over, panting. She observed him worriedly. Once he’d caught his breath, he stood upright. Almost too stiffly. His nose was cherry red. It almost rivaled the color in his cheeks.

“Hikaku?” she inquired.  _He must be cold._

Despite the warm winter coat, there were goosebumps raising on his arms. He tried not to shuffle his feet. He didn’t see why she had to leave; he just knew that she was leaving, and he wanted to be sure that when she returned… she’d still have a place. For him.

Maybe this was his own fault. He shouldn’t have acted so aloof. Despite knowing how she felt, he hadn’t reacted. Now he was too afraid to, but if he chose not to then she might choose later that he isn’t worth the wait. But _still_ – he’s afraid.

“Go to Tokyo and… come back, alright? I don’t want you to leave,” Hikaku said slowly. His face blossomed in warmth.

Toka’s skin was as pale as ever. Snowflakes settled on her clothes, in her hair, on her beautiful, beautiful lashes, and the train’s bell rang; “Five minutes to board!” – but she waited patiently. Hikaku bit his lip. He was being unclear. She didn’t get it, did she?

“Do you… understand?”

Toka sighed, approaching him wearily. Her eyes had bags under them, the emerald colors standing out over dark blue. She’d worked hard for this. “No,” she responded, pulling him into an embrace. She would miss him.

Why was it so warm?

Hikaku flinched. He thought of her firm green eyes again. Firm in kindness, firm in love, they were firm. Firm in anger, firm and stubborn, they were strong—just like the rest of her. And he loved it. He thought of her hands, ice cold, always comforting him, touching him, pulling him closer when he pulled away until he couldn’t fight in anymore, and he fell. He thought of the hair that his face was nuzzled against, brushing against his lashes and tickling his nose—why did it always smell so good? Why was she so kind? Too kind? Too good for him to want, though he did. He still did.

Toka thought of none of this, because she didn’t understand. Yet.

The next moment found Hikaku’s hands on her collar. He tried to be gentle, for her sake. He failed.

His lips were pressed against hers in the next second. The train’s bell rang once more; “Thirty seconds!” – but they both were patient. A little chapped, way too cold, but soft. Moist. She froze in his arms minutely, and then she responded. A smile into the kiss pressed back, and arms wrapped around him. He wished he wasn’t wearing the thick winter coat. He wished he’d confessed earlier. They pulled apart slowly, as if to preserve the feeling. He wished they’d had more time.

Did she understand now?

“Come back,” he repeated, panting lightly, “because I don’t want you to leave me.”

She blinked, looking up at him, before a smile broke out on her face. Her lip gloss was smeared unevenly on both her lips and his, and her teeth were pearly. Her pale face colored bright pink, and she glowed, eyes sparkling.

Taking a step back, Toka’s boots clanked against the metal floors of the train. The doors slid shut. He read her moving lips: “Promise.”

…

He saw boys in the classroom pulling pigtails and playing pranks on her. The other girls were giggling. It was an interesting thing to watch, but it wasn’t his business what the other kids did. He was busy. You see, his life was planned out before it was conceived, and he had to work hard to merit the district that he was destined to manage, so he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Unfortunately, this was distracting.

It was the ten-minute interval between which teachers switched classes, and the class 1-A was taking full advantage. Beside him, his cousin snickered quietly at his irritated expression.

“Quiet, Izuna,” he muttered, sending him a sharp glance. “It’s annoying enough when it’s these people.”

Izuna grinned, planting his elbow on his desk. He leaned his chin onto the palm of his hand. “Hikaku, you look mad.”

The others were _loud_. It was bothersome. Why couldn’t they be quiet?

He looked up, childishly irked, before his mouth fell open in a gape at the sight of the small girl with the sore, brown pigtails pulverizing a group of their fellow eight-year-olds. He blinked, recognizing Yukio among the group, along with some other fodder who followed him like lackeys.

Closing his book, Hikaku set it aside on the desk and stood up, walking over to her quickly. Izuna perked up at that, watching curiously. 

Baring fists, she glowered at his approach with those sharp green eyes of hers—like shards of emeralds ready to cut him up and ship the pieces back home. Scary. “What, do you want some too?” she asked, taking a threatening step forward.

He offered a placating smile, but it came out as more of a smirk. The boy didn’t step back. “Who are you?” he asked, dodging the question.

She sniffed. He noted the bruises on her arms and the tears on her knuckles. No wonder she’d snapped. “I’m Toka _Senju_ ,” she proclaimed, “so you’d better not forget it, or you’ll regret it!”

“Was that rehearsed?”

“Tch!”

The Senju Family were business rivals for the Uchiha. In all trades—fashions, cosmetics, electronics, vehicles, even things like bathing products or foods. What the Senju invented, the Uchiha made better versions of. By the same token, what the Uchiha created, the Senju improved and sold for more. Their rivalry even delved into arts, such as film and music.

The feud between them wasn’t about money, and it was even less about customers. It was about pride.

Luckily, children don’t tend to have much pride to start with.

Hikaku grinned, offering a hand for her to shake. “I won’t forget it,” he promised, “as long as you don’t forget the name Hikaku Uchiha.”

She halted. Her eyes slowly analyzed his hand, with much caution. Would it strike out to hit her?

Seconds passed, and it didn’t. She reached for his hand, shaking it firmly. “Hikaku,” she repeated, “I won’t forget.”

Neither of them did. Their friendship extended from that afternoon in elementary to days spent studying, playing, arguing, rivaling and one-upping each other in everything they could. Days became weeks, became months, even leaking into the summers.

They were ten years old when it ended.

After elementary, Toka informed him that she’d be going to Will Middle. Their mascot would be fire, coining the term ‘Will of Fire’ for each student. Hikaku was to attend Red Moon Junior High.

Toka was standing there, a graduation badge on her pretty blue dress—their school color.

Izuna yawned beside him. Madara was late in picking them up. Fortunate.

“Wait for me,” Hikaku told his cousin, already walking up to the girl by the school gates. She glanced at him before he arrived, greeting him with an easy smile.

“We had a lot of fun, didn’t we?”

“It was fun.” Hikaku shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Too bad it has to end…”

She giggled, waiting. She wouldn’t be the one to ask.

He pouted, glancing away. Then, he tried again: “There’s a karaoke shack near the fountain at the park. You know it?”

Toka was either smarter than he had given her credit for, or he was just always an elephant in the room. She probably took pity on him. Her eyes sparkled, “Let’s meet up there, then! Tomorrow, at noon!”

They sealed it with a hug – and then a slap rang through the air, heavy like a gong. Torn off of him by the arm by a man, Toka trembled.

Hikaku blinked, trying to process what he’d just seen.

A man—a grown man, old enough to be his father, was holding onto his friend’s arm way tighter than could possibly be comfortable. Or painless. A red welt, shaped like a hand, formed on her cheek. Her right eye was tearing up.

This man shouted as if he was talking to another adult and not a scared ten-year-old. “Toka Senju! This is an _Uchiha_! Are you trying to make a fool of your surname? You know better than to fraternize with those —”

All eyes on them. Like a movie, except it was real. The shock was real and the pain was real. The indignant anger, from both this Senju and the growing crowd – it was real.

“Is there a problem here?” Their teacher briskly strode to the scene, phone clutched tightly in her hand. Her body-language cried "CPS" but her hands were shaking. This was Butsuma Senju, the head of one of the top corporations in their city.

Still, he backed down. “Not at all,” he lied, glaring at his – daughter? Niece? Hikaku didn’t think he looked enough like Toka to be her father. Who was this man? Why did he hurt her? The shock wore off and fury pushed in. He took a hard step forward, ready to yell indignantly.

A hand clapped over his mouth before he could speak—the smell of cinnamon dubbed it Madara (when had he arrived, though?)—and their teacher shifted in front of him, hiding that abusive geezer from his view.

But he’d never forget Toka’s face then. As white as a ghost, and shaking like a leaf.

.

He didn’t know why he did, but he showed up at the Karaoke Shack.

He wasn’t sure why she came, but she was there too.

She grinned, bright and lighthearted. He wondered if he’d imaged what happened the day before.

.

It became on and off, afterwards, to prevent repetition of _that day_.

Hikaku was loyal, and so was Toka. They had always been loyal to their families and to each other. Now, they were loyal to their families on the weekdays, when their respective schools and assignments kept them from seeing each other. On the weekends, they were loyal to each other, and enjoyed their time together—wearing shades and beanies and hoodies, hiding from cameras. From their parents. From the world. Consistently, for a whole three years.

“Are you tired?” she asked worriedly, one day. Of homework? His classmates? Red Moon JH was an elite school, so it had to be difficult. He wasn’t even eating the food brought to their karaoke room. The fact that he wasn’t eating _alone_  was enough to tip her off.

He offered her a wry smirk, hoping that a simple “yes” would suffice for today’s words on the subject. But it wouldn’t, and he knew that.

“Yes.” He tried anyway. She responded with a smile.

Toka’s arms were warm when they wrapped around him, comfortingly. He inhaled the scent of peaches and pine. Her cotton scarf pressed against his nose, soft and warm. He nuzzled his face into her shoulder like they were still kids, grabbing and dragging the other around underneath a peach tree in the park – and not teens, sneaking off to karaoke bars and cafés in disguise. He was exhausted. Tonight felt like the end of an era.

He wanted to stay with her, but… “We should stop,” he informed. Background music from the wide-screen TV played in the background. They both ignored it. The food on the table was getting cold.

Toka breathed quietly, but she didn’t loosen the embrace. In fact, she tightened it. “We don’t need to stop,” she said calmly, “because we’re friends, that should be enough.”

Hikaku blinked rapidly. He remembered clearly what had happened – a man (her father? Uncle?) had pulled her away; her face was white and she was shaking, bound by fear like a deer in headlights. And he’d just _stood_  there. He couldn’t help her—and if it were to happen again, he still wouldn’t be able to. He still wasn't.

Could being with him possibly make that worth it?

No.

“It _isn’t_!” he snapped abruptly. She just _had_  to understand. “You’re getting _hurt_ because of this!” He tried to pull her off her to look her in the eye—to stress that her scarves and jackets couldn’t hide the bruises because they _were_  friends, and he _noticed_  these things. “If this is what our ‘friendship’ causes then I don’t _want_ to be friends! I want to be—no, I _am_  an Uchiha, and you need to be a Senju!” Because, maybe then, she’d be safe.

Toka was strong. Her grip on him stayed firm. “I’m going through this because I care about,” she paused, burying her face into his shoulder. How could she word it? Toka exhaled, “about _this_.”

Hikaku deflated, sighing heavily. It carried the weight of running around, cutting corners, and _betraying their parents’ trust_ on his shoulders. Why did she have to be so strong? Was it really worth it?

“Aren’t you tired?” he repeated her earlier question pointedly. "Of _this_?"

She always understood him easier than others. Toka’s hands balled into the back of his thick coat. He thought he felt her trembling into the hug, but he wasn’t sure. “Hikaku,” she breathed, “don’t do this.”

But she didn’t answer his question.

“It’s easier this way,” he promised, “for both of us.”

She didn’t respond. He felt droplets spill on his neck. Wiping his own eyes, he found that they’d been wet, but his cheeks were dry. So much pain; so much effort – wasted. Easing off of Toka, he looked away from a state he knew she wouldn’t want him seeing.

“I’ll be seeing you later.” He stated, picking up his belongings from the sofa. It was probably a lie.

Toka nodded slowly. “Yeah.” She meant it.

They stood there silently, listening to the TV music play:

_I want you to see right through my walls._

_I want you to catch me, 'cause I’m already fallin—_

The door slammed shut as Hikaku quickly left.

.

Sometime after their separation, that’s when he discovered it. 

How, you ask? Because he couldn’t sleep, could barely eat, and couldn’t seem to muster up the will to study without her. His fingers felt too cold by noon, when they would have laid under a peach tree holding hands. He grudgingly brushed his hair in the morning, knowing she’d no longer comment on it; compliment it; she couldn’t run her fingers through it anymore. In the afternoon, he’d aimlessly walk around the neighborhood. To his house, to Izuna’s, back to his, and back again – until even he got irritated with himself. But when he fell asleep and dreamed of her eyes, her hair, her mouth, her nose, her dresses—just _her_ … and then her mouth again – that’s when he realized, doubtlessly:

“I’m in love.”

But it was too late, wasn’t it?

Izuna spat out his oatmeal from beside him. “ _What?”_

“Dammit.”

.

High school starts in autumn.

Impartial to status, or race, or wealth, only the truly prestigious may enter, in accordance to their actual knowledge. It’s easily the top school in the country. Hikaku aces the entrance exam, but ranks and such will only revealed after the first semester.

He determines that he’ll try harder than normal; he’ll be more focused than ever.

He hadn’t planned for this distraction. But it’s a welcome one, no matter how much he denies it. Still, he hadn’t planned for it nonetheless. It’s near him as he learns, studies, eats, does _anything_.

Toka Senju.

Hikaku tries to overlook her.

Her presence is like a strong perfume beside him. Literally.

She actually sits beside him in class.

His gaze is steady on his notebooks, textbooks, teachers, anywhere but her because when he wants to look, he can _feel_  her watching. They were always so alike. Once the girl on her other side – Mito? – calls for her attention, he risks a glance. Her hair is longer. He hadn’t a confident chance to see clearly before.

She laughs at one of the redhead’s jokes. It still chimes like a bell. Chocolate strands sway like silk. She’s even more beautiful than she used to be. He wishes he could see her eyes – but once she turns back to her books, his gaze strays to the front board. They study in tense silence.

.

A week passes. One week too much.

At lunch, he is confronted.

An empty drink box is on the window sill, by his side—labeled ‘Strawberry Milk’ in inapposite pink and bubbly letters. As he leans against the wall, an empty wrapper with yakisoba crumbs is in his hands, being folded into a flimsy airplane, and unfolded again. Then, into an owl. It unfurls itself this time. Then, into a rose.

A door opens. Footsteps. Toka, calling, “Hikaku.”

He stiffens momentarily, before looking up. There’s a juice box in her hand—Orange. She’s wearing her hair up, skillfully and stylishly, as always. Her eyes are steady. Her stride is firm. Somehow, he finds it disconcerting.

Coming to a stop in front of him, Toka stills. She looks at him for a moment, before saying, “Izuna? – from class 1-C, was looking for you.”

He feels like she’s stalling. Something bigger is inevitable. “Tell him I’ll come later,” Hikaku replies, idly counting slits in the lockers.

“Come now.”

Hikaku sets his wrapper down, standing up straight. “He’s a patient person.”

“You’ll come either way, right? So come now; no matter how patient, he still wouldn’t appreciate being forced to wait so long,” she replies, leaning on one foot. “So, come now.” He pointedly _doesn’t_ note how her hips shift. Her arms come up to cross.

He gets the feeling she isn’t talking about Izuna. 

“…Because we’re cousins,” he responds, “surely, Izuna would understand that even I need to be left alone at times – so he can wait.”

She catches his drift. She always does, after all. But she doesn’t listen. “I have a question.”

The sense that she’s stalling ends so suddenly that he can’t help but look up.

“A question,” he repeats, eyeing her. Despite trying to look uninterested, the way his eyes flicker across her face—as if trying to memorize her features in preparation for another break up—is noticed. She nods. That definitely won’t be happening.

“Why did you leave?” she asks. The juice box in her fist is crushed. Toka idly tosses it into a trashcan meters away.

He knows why, and so does she. He says, “because we were tired of it,” instead. It’s much simpler.

“Tired of what?” 

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Then he tries again, and manages to tell her: “Tired of trying to gain what we couldn’t have.”

Toka’s eyes are too green, too big, too beautiful. He looks away. “What can we not have?” she murmurs. 

His lip trembles with the urge to be bitten, but he ignores it. Nervous habits would only weaken his resolve. The floor is suddenly interesting. So, are the windows and the walls. The lockers and the doors. “Don’t make me say it.”

“I love you.”

It’s slow motioned, how his eyes connect with hers in shock.

She’s smiling at him wearily—tiredly. The bags under his eyes are prominent, and his skin is three shades paler than she’d ever seen it, even when he was sick with a summer fever. The bag on his back leaves indents on his shoulder. He doesn’t seem to notice them. He’s still tired too – of fighting this. But it’s for her; he needs to.

“There’s no reason for you to love me,” Hikaku replies breathlessly, eyes steady on hers. Hasn’t he only hurt her? His heart squeezes in his chest and bursts into a million pieces. Shards of ice, falling.

“If you don’t feel the same, then say so.” Toka’s hands tighten on her skirt. It looks incredible on her. He blinks looking back up at her face. Her solid green eyes. “If you want me to leave, be clear.”

It must be painful. Her family is set against him – and she has how many suitors? All lined up by rank, wanting her hand once the school year ends, when they graduate. But, somehow, she’d been strong enough to wait for him. Didn’t they know it would turn out this way?

Hikaku’s eyes trace the floor tiles. He doesn’t want her to leave. “It won’t work,” he says, avoiding the request. “We’ll both only get hurt.”

Toka smiles wryly—painfully. “Was that rehearsed, Hikaku?” she whispers _._

_That rhymed too_ , his eyes seem to say _, it’s not the same._

“Hikaku,” she repeats. His name on her lips is like a song. Toka breathes in tightly, saying, “for me, do you feel the same?”

He blinks blankly.

Did her lips used to be so pink?

He feels chest tightens again, and his heartbeat thunders in his ears. Does he feel the same? As if he doesn’t already know the answer—hasn’t been fighting (and losing against) it for a solid three years. His throat clenches and he can’t make even a whisper. So, he settles for nodding, slowly and mutely. Warmth pools into his face and ears.

It’s true. He knows it’s true. Why should he lie?

He loves her.

Relieved, she smiles. He feels the tiredness fade like a drug. Something new—butterflies?—takes its place. Toka’s grinning. It’s brighter and prettier than he’s ever seen it. Her eyes are sparkling and she takes a step closer, and closer, and closer – until she’s feet away, from where she leans it very slowly. Very, very slowly.

“Weren’t you tired too?” _Of being apart?_  She stops inches from him.

Hikaku feels her warm breath. He notes that she still smells like apples and cinnamon. “I… love you.”

Her hands are placed on his shoulder. Can something be dainty but strong? Hikaku wonders. He wonders at how she still smells like peaches and pine, after all these years. He leans in too, hesitantly. Seconds pass where they’re standing there, chaste kisses slowly moving forward. Faster. Until she sinks her teeth into his lip with gentleness, and he melts completely.

His hands carry themselves, without his discretion, to the curves of her hips – and around, pressing against her back, pressing her against himself. Closer. She leans in further; it takes his breath away. Her hands, on his face, in his hair, closer. _Closer_.

They pull apart what seems like years after, but still all too short. Are his cheeks flushed like hers, or is it just too hot in the hall? Lightly panting, he meets her eyes with something like an apology at the tip of his lips.

Again, she kisses it away. Again and again. And again.

The lunch bell rings:  _“Lunch is over – please report back to your respective classes immediately.”_

He takes her hand, and kisses her again. Although he feels filled, somehow Hikaku still feels hungry.

**Author's Note:**

> that was a bit hard for me to read somehow...!
> 
> BTS: (1) Toka's the second top-ranking student in their class, while Izuna is the second and Mito is the first. Hikaku is the fourth. (2) By the end of the story, Butsuma was already dead... LOL. (3) Madara was a prodigy who graduated early. 
> 
> I admire Toka in this a lot for fighting for her feelings and not letting anything hold her back. I hope one day this can be expanded upon from her point of view, showing how she overcame Butsuma's treatment of her how she reached resolution regarding her own feelings too. She was very headstrong and brave with everything.
> 
> Hikaku, however, kept running from his feelings until the very last second. He may have thought it was for the best at the time, but really she saved him from a lot of regret.
> 
> I remember what I'd been going for when I wrote this: Very distinctly, the theme of this story was the song "Arms" by Christina Perri.
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
